


Cross With Me

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Mikasa, life is a rope bridge. Dangerous and unnerving, but not difficult to get across if you know not to rock it. That's a fact that hasn't changed, no matter how many zombies came and destroyed all the things she ever loved. Except for one person, someone she's unwilling to let go of. Unfortunately, that person seems determined to rock-and fall of of-his bridge at all costs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross With Me

It had always been in Mikasa’s nature to do as she was told. She had no real reason for it; it was simply in her nature. It was never difficult for her parents to get her to eat her vegetables, or go to bed by eight o’clock. She did her multiplication tables just as her teachers told her to, and stacked her chair along with the rest of her class at the end of the day. When the boys on the bus pulled at the ends of their eyes in an attempt to imitate her, she laughed along and followed through with her mother’s requests to ignore them. Life was a rope bridge that was safe enough so long as you knew not to rock it.   
So when her pale faced parents asked her to pack up her things and go with them on a sudden trip to their cottage after the people on the news had talked of a strange, spreading virus, she did. She complied when they asked her not to make noise there and to stay by their side during those long, isolated weeks. She knew better than to ask why. When they heard foreign groans and mangled screams through the cracks in their door, she obeyed her father’s urgent demands to find scrap wood and nails to seal it. When those couldn’t hold anymore, she ran to the back of the room and didn’t make a sound, just as her mother and father told her, through tears that looked unfamiliar on their faces. She didn’t scream when the walking corpses that reeked of overwhelming death and decay ate them alive.   
She realized quickly that they were gone. Not the sort of gone like her mother’s friends abroad, but the gone like her grandparents on her mother’s side, but only much worse. They weren’t lying with their eyes closed in a neat little glass box, they were sprawled on the ground, surrounded by those things and covered in bite marks, painted in brutal red. She was truly alone now. There was nobody left to help her now. So she cried, only vaguely aware that the figures were shuffling towards her now.   
But her quiet sobs were interrupted by a scream, one so violent and terrifying that it shook her to the core. And the scream was followed by cursing, the sounds of steel making contact with what could only be flesh, and the inhuman moans of those people who didn’t look like people at all. She was captivated, both amazed and terrified by the boy responsible for the disruption. He moved quickly and with a purpose, the antithesis the slow unsettling movements of the monsters who had devoured her parents without hesitation. The room was dark, but she caught his glance for just a moment in the moonlight. He was baby faced, shaggy haired, and no taller than she was, but his eyes were a startling green, and seemed years older than the rest of him. She didn’t know why she cared so much for his eyes; they weren’t important at all, but they were the only thing keeping her from crying.   
But when he gasped and ducked to the ground, she lost them and was forced back to reality. She desperately wanted to cry or scream or do anything but cower away at the scene in front of her, but she had no strength left. She felt a brief flash of happiness when she saw her mother and father stand up again, but it was ignorant bliss. She knew very well that these things with torn out chests and shoulders and dead, unfocused eyes weren’t her parents. Not anymore. If they were then they would have ran to her and embraced her with open arms. Instead they noisily shuffled toward the boy they had never met, arms held weakly in front of them, and jaws hung open. They didn’t seem to notice her at all, but judging by the boy’s horrified screams, that seemed to be desirable. He had made the mistake of dropping his weapon several feet away in his panic to flww, and was now fighting back with desperate, unsuccessful kicks and punches. He’d likely by dead in a few seconds, and then what was left of him might come back and do the same to her, if her parents didn’t get to her first. But she made no move to aid him, couldn’t even stand upright. She was crying again, eyes half open and uninterested in her surroundings.  
Yet she couldn’t ignore his screams. They had a power to them, and something about them that forced you to listen, willingly or not. So she did. And then that she realized he was saying her name.   
“Mikasa!”  
It was a shout different from the ones he had uttered before. This one was tender, in the strangest way possible, and it brought her back to her senses. She was aware of the cold wooden floor against her bare feet, the smell of decay enveloping the room, and she saw her parents corpses cornering a boy she had never met before, and his fruitless attempts to fight them off. But she also saw his eyes, green and still so full of life.  
“You need to fight! Fight them! Please! If you don’t, then we’ll die-both of us. We can still live! Please!”  
He choked the words out desperately, as if somehow this wasn’t the end. But something about him made her believe it. She had to fight for the both of them. It didn’t matter that she didn’t even know the first thing about him.  
She frantically searched the room for something-anything that could help her at all. She had seen boys in her class tackle each other down in football or wrestling, but Mikasa had never played sports before, nor did she did she have much experience in throwing punches. But for half a second, her eyes darted to a cooking knife that had belonged to her mother, and a force inside her insisted that it was her only hope. Her mother had warned her never to use it herself, that it was dangerous and could hurt someone. But whatever was attacking the strange boy wasn’t her mother. Her mother was gone, she was dead and could never come back. But Mikasa was still alive. She could still live, and so could the boy with green eyes and strong words. But they needed to fight, and they needed to win.  
She must have moved quickly because she didn’t remember standing upright, or running to the boy. Something beyond her must have been in control, because she moved faster then she ever thought possible. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again she was stabbing the knife into what used to be her fathers head. Another blink and he was gone, and she was on top of her mother. Another blink and she was motionless. Another and she was on her knees again, shaken and trembling, but not afraid. Not anymore.   
“A-are you alright?” The boy stumbled over and got down onto his knees to face her. They were at eye level for the first time now, and it was oddly comforting. It was easy to forget that they had only met…how long ago had it been exactly? A couple of minutes? Just one? Could it have really only been a few seconds? She must have nodded at some point, because he continued on.  
“My name’s Eren. Eren Jaeger. My dad knows your parents. I think they were friends. We were supposed to come get you guys but…well yeah. My dad should be here in awhile anyway, I think. I’m actually not supposed to be here.” He was oddly calm for someone who had been so angry just a while ago, but perhaps he was doing it for her own benefit. She didn’t complain when he continued to ramble on.  
The power she felt before was still there, it seemed like it was a part of her now, but the overwhelming feeling was gone, replaced by numbness and a need to choke back sobs of sadness. A few might have gotten out, but if they did, Eren didn’t point it out, something she was grateful for.   
Eren. She wasn’t listening to him, just taking in the soothing sound, but she was happy to have a name to the face she had become so familiar with now. Eren. It was a good name. 

\---

“But that’s bullshit!”  
“Language, Eren!”  
Mikasa took another bite of her apple. The rations she and the Jaegers were usually passable at best, but most people tend to get used to old, rotten food after five years. Most people weren’t lucky enough to have an important doctor in their family, and had it much worse anyways. But it had been awhile since she had the misfortune of tasting an apple this moldy. Eren had gone the route of dramatically spitting his out and throwing it into the compost before getting into another argument with his mother, but Mikasa had decided to suffer through it. Food was food. Rations usually got progressively less edible as the week progressed, but today was Saturday, so next week’s would be passed out today anyway. She, Eren, and a few others their age usually took care of the task. Though if Eren had his way, that wouldn’t be the case.   
“But I’m fifteen now!” Eren exclaimed. He was red faced again, which was the usual for when this issue was brought up. Mikasa had tried to distract him from it for a while now, but since his birthday, he had become exponentially determined to have his way.  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” their mother asked indignantly, her callused hands thrown to her hips.  
“That you can’t keep me in this compound forever!”  
“There’s absolutely no reason that you need to leave camp and go hunting. Your father is more than happy to pull some strings to get you and Mikasa jobs in the medical tent.” Mikasa cringed when she heard her name. She never liked to be pulled into these sorts of things. It was never worth her time.  
“It’s not like we’re not going to need medicine when we all die of starvation…” Eren muttered the comment under his breath, but he articulated it so clearly that it was obvious he wanted to be heard.  
“What did you say?” their mother asked, her voice raised several octaves.  
“Nothing,” Mikasa interrupted suddenly. She didn’t speak loudly, but because she was always so quiet during these arguments, it wasn’t difficult for her to get their attention whenever she did interject. “Eren didn’t say anything. He and I will go with Armin to pass out the rations for next week. Just like always.” She gave Eren a stern look. “That will be okay, right?”  
Eren frowned, but didn’t protest. She never liked starting mornings off with him on a negative note, but she hoped that his mood would wear off quickly this time. He hadn’t stormed out this time at least. Instead he had settled for sitting down across from her at the old hardwood table with more force than was probably wise for the rickety chair he had chosen. He met her eyes for a moment and an inquisitive expression briefly crossed his face before he turned his attention down to his work boots.   
“Has dad left, yet?” he asked disinterestedly.   
Before either of them could reply, footsteps sounded from the other room, the man they belonged to walking into the kitchen shortly after. He was preoccupied with buttoning his shirt, but Mikasa wouldn’t have been surprised if he had waited for the perfect moment to come in. For the five years she had known him, he had struck her as a meticulous man, somehow resistant to the near constant dirt and grime that covered the rest of them. He came off as a good doctor, even excluding his perfect reputation.  
He mumbled a half hearted good morning to each of them then opened the cupboard where they kept their rations. The most appetizing foods of each meal were normally taken first in the Jaeger house, and judging by their father’s look of contempt at his own apple, today was no exception. He tossed the yellowed fruit into their compost bin without a second thought.   
“We’ll be getting next week’s food delivery today, won’t we?” he asked his wife hopefully.  
“We should be,” she replied. “Eren and Mikasa are helping out with the deliveries again today.”  
“Eren?” he looked skeptically down at his son. “I would have thought you’d be going out with the hunters.”  
“Oh yeah?” Eren responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. “So did I. Why don’t you ask her?” He snapped, gesturing toward his red faced mother.  
“Don’t you dare encourage him Grisha!” Said their mother, arms crossed and glaring at their father. “There is absolutely no reason for him to go out there risking his life for no reason at all!”  
“I’m not trying to encourage him to do anything,” reasoned their father, his expression hinting that he regretted saying anything at all. “I’m was only-“  
“No reason?!?” barked Eren. He shot up and pushed the already abused chair out of the way. “Do you seriously believe that we can keep surviving like this? We don’t have mountains of food tucked away in the storage house anymore!”  
“We’ve been growing plenty of food ourselves!” snapped their mother. There’s no reason why-“  
“Oh yeah, all that farming has been going so well. We’ve got, what? Two strawberries so far?”  
“Don’t you dare act as though we aren’t all trying!”  
“And who do you think is making sure that fucking zombies aren’t breaking down our walls? Who’s been the sole reason that we aren’t all dead? Not me! Definitely not you!”  
“Eren that’s enough!” roared their father. The room fell silent. Mikasa bit the inside of her cheek. She rarely heard her father raise his voice the way that Eren and her mother did, but it always shook her when he did. It seemed unlike him. “Eren, you apologize to your mother instant.”   
“I-I’m sorry,” Eren stammered.  
Their father closed his eyes for what felt like an eternity then looked to his wife. “Karla, we can’t protect him forever.” She bit her lip, refusing to meet his gaze. When she didn’t reply, he let out a heavy sigh. “His mind is already made up,” he mused, studying each of them thoughtfully. Mikasa kept eye contact with him for what felt like an ungodly length of time. It wasn’t difficult to do; she had nothing to hide and played no part in the disagreement.   
Now fear yanked at her gut. Eren had shown an interest in leaving the camp since they were ten, but she had sworn she would never let him. He simply couldn’t endanger himself like that. He was her family. Adoptive true, but it had never felt that way. She refused to let him leave her like that. But now her father insisted that there was nothing she or anyone else could do. He spoke about him like he was something else entirely, an unstoppable strength beyond their means of control. And maybe he was right.  
But that only meant that she would have to try harder. Become stronger. Whatever it took to keep him safe, from the zombies or from himself. Especially himself.   
When she refocused back to reality, her father was gone, which was startling, but unsurprising. He had a habit of leaving unnoticed, and she hadn’t exactly been paying close attention. Her mother was gone, but she was likely working in the other room or out back. It was doubtful that she was in the mood to speak to either of them, unless Eren was in the mood to renounce all of his former ambitions for a quiet life of delivering food rations with her and Armin for the rest of his years. It was a tempting thought, but she pushed it out of the way.  
Eren was still there, seated again across from her, looking past her and his arms sprawled in front of him. His eyes still screamed of anger, unfairness, and freedom, but that rarely changed. The rest of him seemed calm, defeated, but still for the time being.  
“You ready to go?” she asked him gently. She reached out and set her fingers on his hand lightly, stifling a smile when he didn’t flinch away.   
“Yeah. I’m good. Let’s go get Armin,” he replied with a nod and a quiet sense of strength.  
The pair got up from the table, pushed the old wooden chairs back in, and pushed open the screen door, their desired destination set on the house across the street.


End file.
